Flying by Mary Carey©
When I was born, the doctor attached little leaded weights to all my baby limbs.
That is because humans are not supposed to fly.
My Mother held me far too tight for fear I’d float away.
But as I grew she bound me to her in the night and whispered with her hungry voice,
‘Tell me what it’s like to fly. Describe the feeling to me.’
She died.
Perhaps exhausted by her fight to cling to that she could not keep.
Perhaps her wings were clipped too short too soon.
It happens.
I can fly.
A solitary starling.
My soul soars only when my head is in the clouds.
But on the earth, my feet cannot keep still.
My wings itch.
I grow bored so quickly on the ground.
But I’m lonely in the sky. |
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